Monday, June 28, 2010

possibly my new favorite poem

Douglas Fir, Falling
John Calderazzo

Somebody must hear one now & then,
A big tree falling on its own.
So why not me,
Hiking in the submarine green
Along Panther Creek among the Douglas firs,
Their trunks as wide as my outflung arms,
Swaying wind in the rivering crowns
Almost drowning the steady
Breeze of creek water...

I just hear, behind the tangled wall
Across Panther Creek,
The building fury
Of the tree's descent,
Leaf & branch storms set loose
In the bird-panicked, lichen-torn air.
Swirling trunk dust, slammed
With earth, explodes
From the forest.
The ground quakes, the tree bounces
Once, cracks in three places.

Then everything seems to
Stop--creek water, canopy wind,
Rasping drizzle of needle litter
& shredded bark,
Even my own breath:
All of it on hold
As if to honor the tall life
Of this forest king,
Which has temporarily fallen back
Into the grand jumble of things.

Saturday, June 26, 2010

This is my favorite time of the year...

What's wrong with this picture?

Yes, that is an outlet on one of the most beautiful trees I've
ever seen. Of course I can't decide if it's a good use of
available resources or just unhealthy for the tree.

I see heaven in a wildflower...

Friday, June 25, 2010

Thursday, June 24, 2010

What would I give?

The story is told of a woman who rushed up to Fritz Kreisler after a concert and cried,"I'd give my life to play as you do!" And the violinist answered soberly , "I did."

Monday, June 21, 2010

Flowers in the cracks

Mami likes to tell a story about me as a little girl:
Once I was walking with her along the sidewalk,
stopped for a minute and pointed with my tiny finger
saying, "Look Mami, a flower in the crack".
That is the story of my life.

to mami and papi

In honor of Father's day, I would like to take a moment and
thank my parents for their unwavering love and support. But
at the same time, a moment would hardly ever be adequate.

trees have just as much personality as people with just as many interesting things to discover

so much green!

Who ever said weeds can't be beautiful too?

I think poppies are mischevious, they always look like they're hiding something

yellow is becoming one of my favorite colors

This hymn describes my thoughts on nature in the last few weeks...

excerpt from Our Mountain Home So Dear by Emmeline B. Wells

In sylvan depth and shade,
In forest and in glade,
Where'er we pass,
Where'er we pass,
The hand of God we see,
In leaf and bud and tree,
Or bird or humming bee,
Or blade of grass,

The streamlet, flow'r, and sod
Bespeak the works of God;
And all combine,
And all combine,
With most transporting grace
His handiwork to trace,
Thru nature's smiling face,
In art divine.

for your interest, none of my images are edited on photoshop, these are the original colors in all their loveliness

Thursday, June 10, 2010

beautiful poetry by the very talented Kendra Coursey

Cut To Fit

You up
The same way
That you fill me;
Complete the part of you
That is empty; fill the open
Spaces where part of you should be
Like two puzzle pieces, cut to fit perfectly
Together, in one seamless picture that only stops when
The pieces break apart, to be thrown in a box
With all the other pieces, similar but not quite the same,
Almost fitting yet slightly off. Each one has its own mate, its
Own match, that fits into it like a hand in a
Glove, like water in a cup, like paint in a
Pot. I want to be your water; I want
To be your paint. Use me to create
The picture you’ve been wanting, the images
You want to see, continuous, seamless,
No creases and no openings,
Two of us together,
Like puzzle pieces
Cut to

Angel's Rest Pet Cemetary

food (more like a feast) for thought.

If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put foundations under them.

The surface of the earth is soft and impressible by the feet of men; and so with the paths which the mind travels.

Nay, be a Columbus to whole new continents and worlds within you, opening new channels, not of trade, but of thought. Every man is the lord of a realm beside which the earthly empire of the Czar is but a petty state, a hummock left by the ice.

- from Walden by Henry David Thoreau
The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur'd her moans,
Sing willow, willow, willow; Her salt tears fell from her,
and soften'd the stones, Sing, willow, willow, willow.
-Othello 4.3.43-46

Sunrise at the cemetary

We were passing by a field with a wooden fence...

More and more aspens

And out of the ground made I, the Lord God, to grow every
tree, naturally, that is pleasant to the sight of man; an man
could behold it. And it became also a living soul.

Moses 3:9

a living earth

The earth is not a mere fragment of dead history, stratum upon stratum like the leaves of a book, to be studied by geologists and antiquaries chiefly, but living poetry like the leaves of a tree, which precede flowers and fruit,--not a fossil earth, but a living earth; compared with whose great central life all animal and vegetable life is merely parasitic...You may melt your metals and cast them into the most beautiful moulds you can; they will never excite me like the forms which this molten earth flows out into. And not only it, but the institutions upon it are plastic like clay in the hands of the potter.

-Thoreau, Walden

The biggest dandelion we had ever seen...